


Ghostbusters

by ciaconnaa



Series: Rubik Cube [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), The first chapter isn't so serious, The second chapter....will be intense, Tony Stark is Peter's AI now, and it's messing him UP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 11:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16533776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciaconnaa/pseuds/ciaconnaa
Summary: Six years after the snap, Peter's life has gone on despite Mr. Stark's death. Gifted with Tony's voice as his suit's new AI, he continues to fight crime as Spider-Man, and sometimes, it's just like old times. Iron Man and Spider-Man, fighting the good fight.But other times it's not enough. Sometimes it's too much. Sometimes it's just a crutch. Sometimes it's like talking to a ghost. None of it feels completely real, and that makes everything hard.And with a new danger lurking around the corner, painting a target on his back, Peter knows he needs to get it together; and the fact that Tony's daughter Morgan has no idea he's Spider-Man isn't really helping his case.





	Ghostbusters

Six years after Thanos’ snap, Peter Parker wonders if he’s been talking to a ghost.

Ever since Mr. Stark installed his own voice as his spider suit’s new AI, Peter has felt...better. That much is true. Thanos’ snap had forced their goodbye into something scary and tragic, so being able to hear Mr. Stark talk at him while he’s out on patrol, like nothing ever happened, like he never even died,  is oddly comforting.

But the truth is Mr. Stark isn’t here anymore. It’s not him. It’s a ghost.

Right?

Peter sighs, pushing his thoughts aside for the umpteenth time as the nano-tech in the Iron-Spider malfunctions--only three of the four legs are coming out and he for the life of him can’t figure out what’s wrong. Granted, the three bedroom apartment in Ridgewood that he shares with Michelle and Ned isn’t the best work space in the world. It gets the job done for the repairs to his spandex suit and web-shooters but for this advanced of tech...he needs a lab.

Working at Pepper’s house in Tony’s--well, technically _his,_ now--old lab isn’t his favorite thing to do.

Too many ghosts.

He makes one more adjustment before he gives up, letting out a pathetic shriek when one of the iron legs shoots out of the back and breaks one of the hanging plants in his bedroom. Michelle’s going to be pissed.

“Fine, be that way,” he says aloud to his suit. It takes a few seconds, but the leg retracts. “Tony, remind me to call Shuri tomorrow afternoon before class about this whole thing.”

 _“You got it, Kid,”_ Tony’s voice says nonchalantly. “ _I’d also like to tell you I think you just burnt the shit out of those cookies.”_

“What-?” He flinches, covering his ears when the smoke alarm goes off suddenly. He takes a whiff of the air and can’t believe he didn’t notice the smell earlier before he darts out of his room and down the hall. There isn’t much smoke at all, the damn smoke detector just likes to tease him that he’s a terrible cook. He opens the oven and pulls out the cookie sheet, bare-handed. “No, no, no that’s _hot_!” he squeaks before he throws the pan, sending a batch of burnt snickerdoodles flying.

He uses his webs to grab at the smoke detector and yank it down. He'll pay for that later.

He mourns his stupidity as the Iron-Spider recovers his hand. Could have used the suit. Could have used _oven mitts._ Now all he has is burned fingers.

 _“Kid,”_ Tony’s voice comes through again. He half-expects him to make fun of him for the whole fiasco; but he doesn’t. _“Michelle and Morgan are here.”_

Right. It’s Monday. Today is Michelle Monday. Which means Michelle has Morgan. Morgan was picked up at school by Michelle. Which means Morgan sleeps at their place tonight.

Which means he has _got_ to get out of this suit.

“No, no, no, no,” he chants, leaving the cookie and smoke detector mess and dashes into his room. His super speed barely gets him inside to lock his own door before he hears the front door open and a five year old’s footsteps sprinting down the hall.

“Peter!” Morgan squeals. She jiggles the handle to his door and he can practically see her pout when she discovers she can't come in. “Peter, are you in here?”

The nano-tech retracts and he starts to slips out of the spandex he wears underneath. “Just a second, Morgan!” He puts on his favorite pajamas, which also happen to be Morgan’s as well; Hello Kitty flannel pants and his oversized NYC souvenir shirt.

When he opens the door Morgan collides into him, wrapping her arms around him. He picks her up with ease and lets her crawl around to sit piggy-back on him before he heads into the kitchen. Michelle is already picking up the broken smoke detector and burnt cookies on the floor; she has the smarts to wear oven mitts. When she picks up the cookie sheet, bent out of shape from when he threw it with his super strength, she quirks an eyebrow, looking at him as if he had some sort of rational explanation.

He doesn’t. He’s just that dumb. His throbbing fingers are proof.

 _Sorry,_ he mouths as Morgan starts to excitedly tap on his head. “Peter! We brought Mcdonald’s home for dinner!”

He looks over on the counter and sees the bags, including _two_ happy meals. Which means, Ned must be coming home any minute. “Alright!” He fist pumps. “I was getting hungry.”

“You eat _a lot,”_ Morgan huffs, crawling off his back and running over to the counter. It takes considerable effort for her to climb up the barstool to reach the bags but once she does, she brings him the greasy brown one that’s got his usual order: three double cheeseburgers and two orders of fries.

Morgan’s not wrong. It is a lot. “I’m a growing boy,” he defends with a playful pout.

She shakes her head. “Nu-uh, you’re done growing. You’re _old._ ”

He gasps. “I’m telling Pepper you said that.”

Morgan is unperturbed as Michelle brings over the rest of the food and they sit on the tiny circular table by the windows in the living room. “Mommy won’t care. ‘Cause I’m right.”

Peter deflates. Michelle visibly tries not to snicker.

As Peter scoots her chair up by his, Morgan is quick to open up her box, squealing with delight at the toy that comes with it. “Look, look--I got Spider-Man!” she says and all but shoves it in his hands for him to see.

He is not expecting that.

“Huh,” he mumbles, turning it left and right. He had no idea that McDonald’s still makes good happy-meal toys, nonetheless had super-hero ones. It's solid quality, for a toy that comes with a meal. This one is ironically enough, modeled after the Iron-Spider. A button on the back moves the four protruding legs on its back.

Of course all the legs on the damn _toy_ work. Just his luck.

“How long has this been going on?” He asks Michelle.

She shrugs in response, pouring an absurd amount of honey mustard on her sans grilled chicken salad. “Beats me. Seems dumb. Bet Spider-Dude isn’t even getting any royalties.”

Peter frowns. Money is not what Spider-Man is about; he’d save the city in his homemade onesie if he has to, but he has to admit as harmless as this is, royalties _would_ be nice. Oh well. Beats getting trashed by the Daily Bugle. “I’m sure he’s fine with it,” Peter finally says with a crooked smile. “Spider-Man seems too cool to care about money.”

Michelle rolls her eyes, but doesn’t press on the matter. Morgan becomes more than preoccupied with trying and failing to keep ketchup off her face as they all eat their food. It's all so typical. He looks away for ten seconds and the kid looks like something out of a Halloween magazine. Peter’s laugh is a poorly contained wheeze as he grabs a napkin and tries to wipe her face; she squrims. “Sit still you little gremlin, you’re a mess.”

“I’m not a gremlin,” she whines, taking the napkin from him and wiping her own face. She gets most of it off, which is fine for now. “What’s a gremlin?”

“You see there’s this _really_ old movie--”

She hears 'movie' and short circuits. “Movie? Can we watch it?”

Peter hesitates. Is Gremlins appropriate for a five year old? Or at least Morgan? Surely it is…She wouldn’t get scared. Probably. They’ll see. “Yeeees…..?” He looks up at Michelle for confirmation.

She shakes her head slowly. Exasperation twinkles in her eye.

“....Errrrrr, no. No, we can’t.” Morgan pouts. “At least not tonight, kiddo.” He amends, handing her back her Spider-Man toy in hopes of distracting her. “How was school today?”

Morgan starts to kick her feet idly underneath the table, taking a much daintier bite of her sandwich, with one hand, still grasping the toy in the other. The movie is already forgotten. “It was really fun! We talked about families today and I made a family tree.”

“It’s in my bag,” Michelle says, nodding over to her oversized canvas pack on the couch.

“I’ll get it!” Morgan declares, dropping what's in her hands and licking her fingers. She wipes her sorta-clean hands on the back of her shirt before she bounces off the chair and runs to grab the pink piece of cardstock in Michelle’s bag.

There’s a tree, all right. It’s made of yarn, stickers, cotton balls and an unbelievable amount of _glitter_. Peter can’t believe Michelle willingly put the monstrosity in her bag. There’s tiny photos that have been printed and cut out in between all the sparkles.

“There’s Aunt May,” she says, pointing at her photo, “And there’s Ned and Michelle and you’re right here!” The photo she used of him is the biggest, mostly because a lot of it is uncut and has Morgan in it. “I didn’t want to cut me out,” Morgan admits bashfully. “I like this picture.”

He smiles, bending down to press a kiss into her hair. “I like it, too.” He scans the picture again. “Where’s Mom?”

Morgan sighs. “Mommy couldn’t find a photo of herself so I had to make the tree a Pepper tree.”

Sounds fake, but okay. He knows Pepper has a reason and he understands. The Pepper tree, not so much. “A Pepper tree?”

She points to the red blobs adorning the tree that Peter had assumed were badly drawn apples. “Red peppers. Pepper tree.”

“Ah, I get it now.”

Morgan’s life isn’t the most….simple. Pepper wants Morgan to try and have a normal life, but it isn’t possible when you’re the last heir to Stark Industries. She had nannies and babysitters when she was younger but when it came time for her to start Kindergarten, Pepper decided to make a few compromises.

If asked, Morgan could write out her whole name: _Morgan Antonia Parker Stark._ But at school she is instructed to simply write _Morgan Parker._ In reality, it makes everything easier on them, especially when May Parker or Peter Parker are written on the list of approved people to pick her up. It’s not questioned if they’re family when they share the same name.

It bothers him, though. The hiding. The secrets. But they couldn’t hide the biggest one of all. Morgan knows her dad was Iron Man, and she knows she’s not allowed to tell anyone. She doesn’t understand why, but the worried and terrified looks on Pepper and Peter’s faces when they explain that she simply _cannot_  are enough to make her obey.

She isn't old enough to know she could get hurt.

Luckily, it doesn’t seem to bother her so much. She can’t name drop Pepper Potts, either. Everyone knows that name, too. Pepper explains to her daughter that because she has a really fancy and important job, she doesn’t want people to see her much because she doesn’t have the time to say hello. That’s why she’s just Morgan Parker. Which is pretty true. But when Pepper isn’t busy running Stark Industries she’s working with Bruce Banner on Mr. Stark’s tech, saving it, fixing it, modeling it to fit an emergency. Peter never saw it, he was dead in the snap, but he heard rumors that Pepper wore a suit in the final battle against Thanos. He believes it, too. There are Iron Man rumors from time to time. Nothing concrete, but…

Peter likes to believe them.

Tony Stark is dead, but Iron Man isn’t. Iron Man is simply...on hold. A hiatus.

Peter glances at Morgan, who has abandoned her half-eaten meal in order to play with her new Iron-Spider toy, and his heart clenches.

Morgan doesn’t even know Peter is Spider-Man.

She’s young, and it’s not safe. That’s the reasoning. And it’s a good reason. People think that superheroes are kings and queens but really, they’re just pawns. Pepper has been a pawn in some bad guy’s scheme to get to Mr. Stark before. Peter has been a pawn. Michelle has been a pawn. Ned has been a pawn. So Peter will not risk Morgan, not when she’s so young and vulnerable.

“Peter?”

Morgan’s voice draws him out of his trance. “Yeah, baby?” he mumbles. He suddenly feels extremely tired. He looks down at his two and a half cheeseburgers and doesn’t feel all that hungry anymore.

She’s holding the Iron-Spider toy in front of his face. “Do you think Spider-Man will sign my toy if you ask him for me?”

It’s small, impossible to sign properly, but he can’t deny her. “For you? Of course. I’ll ask him when I see him next.”

Because Peter isn’t Spider-Man, not to Morgan. Peter just works for him.

Ned chooses to make his entrance then, pretending like he kicked down the door in a grand, ironic, superhero-like arrival. “I heard there was a happy meal with my name on it.”

Morgan waves from the table. “Hi, Ned! Look!” she tugs on Peter’s sleeve, gesturing for him to lift the toy up. “They have superhero toys! I got the Iron-Spider!”

“What!?” Ned’s eyes bug out of his head. Peter wishes that it was simply an exaggeration for Morgan’s amusement, but he knows his friend is genuinely excited about getting a decent action figure. He nearly rips his box open to get to his.

Ned pulls out an Iron Man toy.

“Yes!” he squeals. “Iron Man was the _coolest.”_ He bumps the toy with the one in Peter’s hand. “Did you know Iron Man and Spider-Man used to team up _all the time?”_

 _“ Ned ,_ ” Peter hisses under his breath in warning.

Morgan’s eyes grow wide with wonder as she whips her head back to face Peter.  “Dad fought with Spider-Man?”

Peter opens his mouth to try and nip the conversation in the bud, but Ned keeps going, oblivious to Peter’s warning. “Yeah! They were in space and everything.”

_Mr. Stark? I don’t feel so good._

_I don’t want to go, please, I--I don’t want to go._

_I’m sorry._

“Peter.”

He blinks and Michelle is staring at him from across the table, eyes wide in warning. He looks down and notices his grip on the edge of the table is lethal; he twitches his fingers and feels that he’s holding a broken off a piece of the table.

Whoops.

“Peter?” This time it’s Morgan, and her voice is full of worry. “You look funny. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he chokes out, leaning down to rest his forehead against a part of the table that’s still intact. He can fix this. “I just….I need…”

“What?” Morgan asks, shaking his arm desperately. “What?”

“....Cookies,” he whispers, throwing in a dramatic cough for effect. He turns his head and peeks at her through the fringe of his hair. He grins.

“Cookies?” Morgan turns around. “But you burned them all to hell. That’s what MJ said.”

“Oooh,” Ned tuts. “MJ said a bad language word.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to make more!” Peter declares. He shoots up like a firework and grabs Morgan out of her chair, twirling her around and making her giggle. He uses the opportunity to toss the broken piece of the table to Michelle, who catches it with ease, tucking it behind her chair. He’ll come up with an excuse eventually. “I was practicing for your class party coming up. We gotta bring the tastiest ones, right?”

It’s like he never spaced out and worried them all. Her smile is bright. “Right!”

“You need a loooooot of practice,” Michelle snorts. “Especially with a double chocolate chip recipe like that.”

Peter frowns. He knows they’re charred, but, “Those were snickerdoodles….”

Michelle cradles her forehead in her hand. “Holy shit.”

“Bad language word,” Peter, Ned, and Morgan all say simultaneously. Then, a tug on Peter’s pant-leg. “Peter, can we watch a movie that _isn’t_ the gremlin movie while we make cookies?”

“Okay, but Ned gets to pick.”

Without skipping a beat, Ned says, “Treasure Planet!” and Morgan cheers, because he knows that’s her favorite movie of the moment.

Peter tries to hide the slip of his smile as he pulls out a different cook book he stole from Aunt May’s house. It’s not that he minds watching kids movies with Morgan--sign him up to watch the Toy Story series any day--and it’s not like he can’t separate his life from fiction, because he can. He doesn’t draw parallels in everything he sees, but,...Jim and Silver are different. The space pirates, the rag-tag father-son relationship, the separation at the end.

It reminds him of Mr. Stark. It reminds him of Titan. It reminds him of their deaths.

If only Mr. Stark’s wasn’t permanent.

“Maybe May’s recipes aren’t the best to use,” Michelle says, trying to clean up some of the mess as Ned and Morgan move about, trying to set up the movie. “Why don’t you call your friend _Karen_ and see if she can pull out a better one.”

Peter keeps putting on his best smile. He doesn’t get away with hiding his emotions from Michelle, he never has, but he’s managed not to slip up when either she or Ned mentions Karen. He hasn’t told them or Pepper she was deactivated six years ago and replaced with Tony.

He isn’t entirely sure why he’s kept it a secret. But he can't find a way to tell them, either.

“Yeah, lemme go give her a _ring,”_ he winks, like it’s all a big game and Michelle rolls her eyes as he walks back to their bedroom.

He can hear Ned and Morgan chatting loudly as he closes the door behind him; he takes a moment to himself and slumps against the door, taking a few deep breaths. He’s fine. Everything’s fine.

He grabs the earpiece out of his side-table drawer and sticks it in his ear, tapping it a few times with his index finger. “Tony?” he says softly.

_“Hey, Kid. What’s up?”_

“Can you pull a few recipes for….I don’t know, let’s try chocolate chip cookies. Maybe that’s easier.”

 _“For you, I doubt it.”_ There’s a pause. _“I emailed you a list. The one from Buzzfeed looks promising.”_

“Thanks, Tony.”

_“Anytime, Kid.”_

He stands still, the silence in the room crippling. It’s been years of only having Tony as an AI, but there are times where it just _gets_ to him and he doesn't--

There’s a knock on the door; this time Morgan doesn’t try to barge in like last time. “Peter, I can’t find my Hello Kitty pajamas,” she whines. “I wanna wear them while we bake cookies and watch the movie.”

He cracks half a smile as he glances at his phone that’s been charging. It lights up with a link to a Buzzfeed article with 10 different chocolate chip cookie recipes. “I washed them for you, they’re on top of the dryer. Ask MJ to get them, okay?”

“Okay!” she chirps, and he listens the the sound of her feet scurrying down the hall.

With a sigh, he pulls the earpiece out and puts it back in the drawer before he heads back out into the living room, phone in hand. Morgan has already changed into her pajamas and is climbing on the counter so she can help bake and watch the movie at the same time.

“Find anything good?” Michelle asks. She’s already gotten out a new cookie sheet and bowl and is rinsing out a few spatulas.

“Yeah, here,” he whispers, pushing his phone her way. He opens the fridge and gets the eggs out, glancing at the dinette table in the process. “Morgan, go finish your food. I’m not telling your mom I let you eat cookies for dinner when she comes to pick you up in the morning.”

Michelle mumbles something about edibility as she skims the recipe.

“You didn’t finish your food, either.” Morgan counters.

Gah. She has a point. But he has one too. “Well I’m an adult, I can do whatever I want.”

“Nu-uh,” Morgan shakes her head. “You’re a child. That’s what May said.”

He narrows his eyes and sends a telepathic message to May that says, _that’s not cool._ He’s twenty-one damn it. He can drink alcohol and everything. He doesn’t. But he could.

“I can’t be old and a child. You gotta pick one.” He points to the table anyhow. “Grab mine too.”

Morgan cocks her head to the side, curious. “How is McDonald’s better than cookies, anyway?”

An interesting question for a five year old, truly. Peter doesn’t have an answer. He shrugs. “Dunno. It’s dinner food though, and should be eaten for dinner. That’s all I got. Hurry up before it gets too cold.”

She doesn’t argue with him, she rarely does, and he bites back a laugh at seeing her climb all over the place just to get the food and bring it back to the counter. Ned gets the movie started and settles into the couch, a mouthful of french fries as he starts to edit a paper that’s due in a few days.

The movie plays, Morgan chatters about anything and everything while talking with her mouth full, and the cookies actually come out….decent. Peter credits the recipe. Michelle credits her supervision. Ned says it’s both.

Peter lets Morgan have a cookie once they cool and the two of them sit on the couch to watch the TV. Ned migrates to the kitchen table and ropes Michelle into helping with his paper which she easily agrees to if it means leaving cleaning duty to Peter. He tunes them out as Michelle’s tutoring inevitably becomes an argument.

The movie is on it’s second run; they just replayed it when it ended because Morgan complained that she hadn’t seen it when they were baking. The house smells like four dozen cookies and the room is unusually warm from the oven being on so long and yet they both snuggle under a blanket, small beads of sweat forming on the back of Peter’s neck as they watch to the end.

She only gets halfway through the cookie, nibbling at a slow pace and getting crumbs everywhere, when she starts to nod off. Peter doesn’t blame her--he’s getting sleepy too.

The end of this movie is always hardest for Peter. _“Look at you,”_ Silver says with a laugh. _“Glowing like a solar fire. You’re something special, Jim. You’re gonna rattle the stars, you are.”_

It somehow reminds him of Mr. Strak’s last message of him, and makes him envious that they couldn’t have had this kind of goodbye in person when they were up in the stars. On Titan, Peter was dying, he was scared and in his head he knows that Mr. Stark understood his fear, but Peter’s heart _aches_ with regret. The last time they saw each other, Peter scared the shit out of Mr. Stark. He broke his heart. There’s nothing he can do about it, but it still eats at him from time to time. Maybe he could have been more brave. Maybe he could have said something other than _I don’t want to go_ over and over again. Maybe--

“Pete?”

He looks down and sees Morgan resting lazily against his arm with lidded eyes. She's grabbed hold of his hand, the burns on his fingers already healed. “Someone’s sleeeeeeeepy,” he says. The clock on their wall reads 8:30. Definitely time for bed.

She whines a little, rubbing her nose into his sleeve before she lifts her arms above her head lazily. “Carry me?”

“So demanding,” he teases, but he gets up and scoops her up; she wraps her arms around his neck and rests her head on his shoulder. “Say goodnight to Michelle and Ned.”

“Goodnight Michelle. Goodnight Ned. Thanks for the food and the movie.”

“You’re welcome,” Michelle says softly. “Sweet dreams.”

“Night, girly,” Ned says, blowing her a kiss. Morgan pretends to catch it and presses it to her cheek, making Ned squeal.

Their apartment isn’t more than 1,100 square feet, but Peter swears the little monster is already asleep by the time he gets her to her bedroom. He pulls back the sheets of her bed and slips her in with one arm; sometimes it feels like he can lift her with his pinky finger, she's so tiny.

“Peter?”

Guess she’s not asleep. “Yeah?”

She opens her eyes. “I love you.”

Warmth spreads through his chest the same way it always does when she says that to him. “I love you, too.”

“....Promise?”

Peter blinks. She’s never questioned him before. “Of course.” He gets on his knees and rests his arms on her bed. “Why would you ask?”

She just shrugs. “Just checking. Since you’re not my real big brother.”

“What?” he whispers. It feels like the wind got knocked out of him. “Who told you that?”

“Ms. Holly,” she says. “We were talking about family relationships and brothers and sisters at school and they have to have the same mom or the same dad or both.” She shrugs again. “But I guess it’s kind of like how Aunt May is your aunt, but she’s really your mom, right?”

“Uhhh,” Peter scratches his head, trying to keep up. “Yeah. Pretty much, I guess.”

“What happened to your mom and dad?”

Jesus. This is not a fun bedtime story _at all._ “Ummm, they died in a car crash when I was really little.”

“How little?”

“Morgan Stark little.”

“...I am pretty little.”

Peter chuckles. “Yes, you are.”

“Do you miss them?”

He doesn’t _remember_ them. But he can’t tell her that. “Yeah, sure. Of course.”

There’s a pause and then, “How old were you when Ben died?”

Worst. Bedtime story. Ever.

That one’s always a little harder to relive. But over the years the pain doesn’t burn so much. “I was fourteen.”

“Not so little.”

“Well, I was still pretty little,” he winks, trying to tone down the tragedy of it all. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m kinda short.”

“I noticed. MJ mentions it a lot.”

“Well, MJ’s a _giant._ She’s even taller than your dad was.”

Morgan perks up at the mention of Mr. Stark. “Dad was short?”

“Yup; maybe shorter than me.” In actuality, he isn’t sure. Peter grew since her dad died. Not much, but he suddenly craves an opportunity for them to stand back to back, just to check.

“I don’t believe you.” She pouts. “Iron Man was _tall.”_

“Iron Man wears _heels.”_

That sends her in a fit of giggles. “Not he didn’t!”

“Platforms. The Iron Wedges.”

“No!”

“Red bottoms like a pair of Louboutins. I swear.”

She laughs a bit more, but the Louboutin joke goes over her head and she calms down, looking up at him curiously. “I’m glad you’re my brother. But. If we have different moms and dads, how’d you _become_ my brother?”

“Well,” he says softly, leaning down to rest his chin on his hands. “I had my mom and dad, but they died. Then I had May and Ben, but then Ben died. So I didn’t have any dads or any uncles. Then I met Mr. Stark.”

“How’d you meet?”

He’s cooked up enough lies that the story comes easily. “I applied to work at his company as an intern and he chose me because he thought I would do the best job.” He shrugs. “Eventually we became friends. And then before I knew it, he was like another parent. And when you were born, that made me your brother. 'Cause it's like we have the same dad. Get it?"

“How’d he become your dad?”

Seriously, the worst bedtime story ever.

 _He didn’t,_ Peter wants to say but even though it would be the truth, it feels like a lie. Mr. Stark was special and dad-like, but dad didn’t feel like the right word. He was important. He was a teacher. His protector. He was….Mr. Stark.

“That’s complicated,” he whispers, brushing his finger through some of Morgan’s bangs. “If I knew how to explain it, I would.”

“But you’re so smart! You can explain anything.”

He doesn’t know how to let it go, not when she puts him on such a high pedestal by saying stuff like that. He wonders if this is how he made Mr. Stark feel at the beginning of their friendship. “It really is complicated,” he assures her. “But lemme say this. Even though we don’t have the same mom and dad, I’m still your brother, right? I’ll always be your brother no matter what. Because I just am.”

“Right,” she nods confidently. It seems Ms. Holly can suck it.

“It’s the same way with Mr. Stark. He wasn’t my _dad_ but…..he was, you know?”

Morgan purses her lips, eyes squinting, before she nods her head again. “Okay.”

“Err...Okay?” Is it really that easy?

“Mmmhm,” she agrees, snuggling further into her comforter. She lets out a yawn. “I get it now. Thanks, Peter.”

“Right. Awesome. Glad that’s cleared up.” He pats her head once, letting out a sigh of relief, before he leans down and puckers his lips. Morgan meets him halfway and gives him a kiss on the corner of his mouth before she dives back and snuggles into her bed. “Night, kiddo.”

“Night, Petey. Sweet dreams.”

He hasn’t had asthma since before the bite, but as he closes Morgan’s door behind him, he wouldn’t have minded a puff or two from his old inhaler. That conversation was overwhelming.

Ned has gone to his room, MJ to theirs. The living room is empty. He tries to distract himself. He camps out on the couch and watches a few reruns of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Then he tries reading one of Michelle’s books. He gets bored. He reads a copy of Ned’s paper on his phone. He gets confused. He tries to take a nap. He stares at the ceiling. He can’t sleep.

The clock reads 1:45am.

It’s Monday, and he normally doesn’t do patrols on Mondays since it’s Morgan Monday but right now….he needs to get out. So he makes a mental note that it’s technically Tuesday, he’s not really breaking his own rule, and gets ready to leave.

“Hey, MJ,” he whispers, peeking into his bedroom. Michelle is still awake and is wrapped in their comforter, reading a book. Her glasses sit low on the bridge of her nose like a cranky librarian. He tiptoes in and closes the door as softly as he can, just in case Morgan is listening. “I’m gonna go patrol for awhile.”

Michelle knows he doesn’t normally go out on Mondays--which means she knows something is bugging him. “What’s wrong?” she asks, looking up from her book.

He can’t completely lie to her, so he settles for half-truths when it comes down to it. “Something Morgan said about the family tree….plus the whole superhero toys and then she asked me something about Mr. Stark when I put her to bed. I don’t know. I just wanted to clear my head.”

He just wants to hear Tony’s voice.

Michelle nods, and just like that, she’s back to her book. “Okay. Don’t be out too late.”

He grabs his spandex suit and slips it on before he digs out his mask from the hidden compartment in one of his drawers. Just before he slips it on, he jumps on the bed and leans over to give her a kiss. “I’ll be careful. I promise to call you if I end up bleeding in a sewer.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not doing that again. Next time call Ned.”

“Will do.” He grins and gives her one last kiss before he slips on the mask. “Love you, bye.”

Their bedroom is the one with the fire escape access, so he has a nice big window to slip out of. He makes sure the coast is clear before he forgoes the fire escape entirely and climbs up the brick wall up to the roof.

“Alright, Tony, how’s everything looking?” he asks, double-checking his web-shooters. He really hopes this suit doesn’t fail on him tonight like the Iron-Spider had.

 _“Hey, Kid, nice timing,”_ his AI answers. _“I’m monitoring the police scanners, and I’ve got a report of some possible carjackers. Multiple alarms are going off.”_

When Peter focuses his hearing, he can actually hear them a few blocks away. It is quite noisy. “No, yeah, that sounds promising. Well, it sounds bad.” He shoots out a web and starts swinging. “You know what I mean. Are there surveillance cams on any nearby streets? Can you get a glimpse of them?”

It takes a moment for Tony to process the request. _“Yeah, I got ‘em. Two of them. They’re targeting Honda Civics, real original.”_ Peter can _hear_ the eye roll. _“They don’t look too out of your league. Want me to draw up possible web combinations for the two low-life losers?”_

“Nah, I’m feeling adventurous." Shoot. Swing. "I think I’ll just wing it.”

_“Suit yourself, daredevil.”_

“Wrong borough. This isn’t Manhattan and I can still see.”

_“Very funny, Kid.”_

Peter lands a good couple yards away from the two carjackers who are, yes, breaking into yet another Honda Civic.

“Hey, if you guys needed a Lyft, I would have called for you.” He shoots his web and manages to tie the two of them up with ease. Like, a lot of ease. It’s not even a fight. Pretty disappointing. And….strange. They pretty much just...let him win. Like they wanted to go to jail. No. That’s not right.

But they did want to get _caught._

His spidey-sense goes off maybe _half a second_ before he feels a sharp, unbearable pain go through his back.

Peter looks down and sees a large metal knife protruding through his abdomen.

Perfect.

He’s been stabbed before. Maybe five times. Three of which he didn’t even realize he had been stabbed until he got home, and everytime it kinda felt like being stabbed with a butter knife due to his enhanced healing.

But as he sees the large blood dripping from the knife he thinks this is not one of those times.

It’s a big knife.

“Fuck,” he curses, falling to his knees. He stares at the ground for a moment, as it’s all he can handle. He can’t even turn around to see who’s stabbed him. He hears talking. Scuffling. Words. He hears it all, loud as always, but he can’t register anything and put it into sentences. Nothing’s making sense.

This has to be a set up. The whole thing was bait. They wanted Spider-Man so they could specifically stab him with a big ass knife in a scary looking parking lot and that sucks _so so bad--_

“Tony,” Peter croaks out. He looks up and notices the car goons are gone. He doesn’t know how they got out of his webbing. He forces himself to turn around; nothing. He’s alone. “Tony, do a vital scan.” Something is off. He hasn't just been stabbed.

 _“Kid, you've been stabbed and it's caused a collapsed lung,”_ his voice rings through worried. _“You need medical attention like, yesterday.”_

Right. Yes. Collapsed lung. Medical attention. Of some sort. May makes a decent doctor when she’s not screaming at him. MJ does too. But first, the knife.

“I’m gonna pull the knife out,” he says more to himself than anything else, but that doesn’t mean Tony isn’t listening.

_“I wouldn’t do that.”_

He does it anyway. And everything is worse.

_“Told you.”_

“Tony,” he gasps, “Google, ‘collapsed lung home remedies’.”

There’s a pause and then, _“You’re not at home. I don't see what good that will do. You need a nurse or doctor.”_

May is too far. MJ and Ned won’t know what to do. Banner might be awake, but that’s a gamble. “Shuri it is.” The effort it takes to get back on his feet is _astounding._ It makes him see spots. “What the fuck did they stab me with?” he moans to himself.

_“A really big knife.”_

Sometimes he really hates that programming. But it wouldn’t be Tony if he didn’t. “Just call Shuri, please?”

_“Calling Shuri.”_

As he drags himself through Queens, tossing sloppy webs and quite frankly, whacking into walls, the phone in his suit keeps ringing. He’s almost about to metaphorically slam the phone down on the receiver when she finally picks up. _“_ What is it, Parker?”

“I got stabbed,” he wheezes and _Jesus_ his voice does not sound like a human voice. “And my lung is collapsed. And it _sucks.”_ Another wheeze. He falls into a trash can, knocking it over, and lays there for a moment, because it’s where he belongs. “Tell,” he pants, “Tell me what to do.”

“I’m going to call Dr. Banner to get you,” Shuri says. “He’s in Manhattan with Miss Potts.” This is information he already knows. “Where are you now?”

He looks to his left and mourns a half-eaten bag of Cool Ranch Doritos that someone carelessly threw away. It’s getting stained with his blood. Man. Blood, a collapsed lung, a horribly large knife. Uneaten _chips._ What a night. “A trash can in Queens. It’s nice.”

“Get up,” she tells him. “Go to your apartment.”

“Shuri--”

“Dying is not an option! Especially in a pile of garbage! Go!” and she hangs up. It’s a little dramatic. He’s in pain, he’s in trouble, but he’s not dying.

Well, he thinks.

 _“Hey, Kid,”_ Tony’s voice comes back through. _“I’m mapping out the path of least visibility to your house. By some miracle, you haven’t caught anyone’s eye and you should probably keep it that way if you want to stay off Twitter.”_

Tony’s right. Even though it’s pretty late, people will still come and go. That’s New York for you. He pulls himself out of the pile of trash and shoots a web up to the roof of the closest building. It might kill him, but he’s got to do some swinging if he wants to get back to his apartment without ending up on the internet like Tony said.

The entire time his senses go bonkers. It’s almost enough to dull some of the pain it’s so distracting. His vision is wonky, his ears don’t work right, and there’s a terrible feeling in his chest that’s not directly related to the pain of the open wound itself. Peter manages to get to his place, but his bedroom fire escape window suddenly seems so far away. The balcony off the living room on the other side is better.

He shoots one last web and climbs up the wall, the last bit of adrenaline keeping him from falling back to his demise. The balcony is small, too small to sit off, but it’s enough for plants--he knocks over two more of Michelle’s and decides that maybe they should keep fewer plants.

Peter opens the window with one hand, the other still pressed to his abdomen. He’s barely got his head through when he hears a clunk of a plastic Disney Princess cup falling on the hardwood floor.

“...Morgan?”

She’s standing there, wide-eyed, a glass of milk splashed all over her Hello Kitty pajamas and bare feet. “...Spider-Man?”

Right. He’s not Peter Parker. He’s Spider-Man. “Hey, kid,” he says, clearing his throat in attempts to change his voice but it’s not really needed. The collapsed lung makes him sound like a dying frog. He’s Frog-Man. “You think you can help me out?”

And just like that, she’s running over and trying to drag the rest of him through the window. Her efforts are pretty futile; she tugs uselessly on his arm while Peter does most of the work of shoving himself through. He falls into a heap on the ground.

“Should have used the Iron-Spider,” he whispers hoarsely to himself. Might have helped, might not. Mr. Stark still got stabbed with the nano-tech. And he almost died. Before he actually died.

Peter wheezes. Tonight _sucks._

“What do I do?” Morgan asks, tugging on her fingers. She doesn’t wait for an answer before she takes her favorite blanket off the couch and drapes it over him, blood be damned. He manages a small smile under the mask. “Do you want to sit on the couch?”

It would beat the hell out of sitting on the floor, but he isn’t sure he can make it. “This is fine.” His chest is on fire and everything hurts but this is fine. He needs to ask Tony something. But he can’t address the AI without saying his name. “What would be great...is one of those glasses of milk you were fixin’” He stops, the sentence taxing. “T-think you can get me one?”

“Yes, Mr. Spider-Man!”

While she’s pouring the milk he curls to the side, clutching more firmly against his side. The blood seems to have slowed considerably, but his lung is still a problem. “Tony, google ‘collapsed lung home remedies,’ or something of the like. I’m not joking.” He whispers.

 _“Right away, Kid.”_ A pause and then the information is being pulled up in front of him virtually through his mask. _“It depends on the severity of the collapse. For your case, a chest tube might be best.”_

“Okay, great,” Peter pants. “We got any of those lying around?”

_“You’re outta luck, Kid.”_

“You’re telling me.”

Morgan comes back with the cup of milk; it shakes in her hand, half the milk dripping down her hand. “H-here,” she stutters, holding up the drink to his lips.

He lifts his mask just enough to show his mouth, and takes a sip. Bleh. He hates milk. Why didn’t he ask for the flat coke in the fridge? “Thanks,” he coughs, pulling the mask back down. Drinking was not the best idea. “Now can you go get Ned for me?”

“Don’t you want me to get Peter?”

“No!” he yelps; it sounds strangled. It’s a wonder than neither Michelle or Ned have come out of their rooms at all the ruckus. Maybe it’s not as loud as his hearing thinks it is. “Just Ned. He’ll know what to do.”

When she runs down the hall screaming Ned’s name, Peter slaps the spider on his chest and his suit deflates, allowing him to roll it down to his waist. He keeps the mask on as he peers down at the knife wound and _yikes_ is it bigger than he thought it was.

Ned and MJ both come barging down the hall; Ned shrieks with worry while Michelle’s brow furrows in anger and concentration as she kneels by his side, pressing Morgan’s blanket to his bare side. He flinches. “What happened?” she demands.

He can smell his blood more clearly, and it mixes with the smell of milk that’s still on the floor. “Got stabbed. Big knife. Zabuza knife.”

“No geek references when you’re dying,” Michelle snaps. “Did Karen call for help? Alert Shuri? Pepper? Mr. Delmar? Absolutely anyone at all.”

“Relax,” he wheezes, and Michelle presses harder into his side as punishment. Ow. “Dr. Banner should be here soon.”

“Mr. Spider-Man, are you dying?”

Peter turns his head to see Morgan. She looks scared, hands clutching at her night shirt and eyes glossed with unshed tears. That’s the thing about Morgan. She cries when she gets hurt, when she gets sad, and when she gets angry, but she doesn’t cry when she’s scared.

“No,” Peter manages. “No, I don’t think so.” He looks up at Ned, who’s taken to cradling Peter’s head with both hands. “I really m-mean that, guys.”

“Stop talking,” Michelle says softly. “You’ve lost a bit of blood.”

“S-sorry about the floors.”

“They needed to be stained anyway.”

“Hey, no puns when I’m dying.”

Morgan turns her head and looks down the hall, towards Michelle and Peter’s bedroom. “Where’s Peter!? He’s friends with Spider-Man he could help him feel better.”

“Peter left,” Ned buts in, which is never good. Michelle is the master liar for a reason. “He went to get….donuts.”

God, Ned’s the worst sometimes.

“Donuts?” Morgan questions.

Ned scrambles. “For breakfast. As a surprise. He’ll...be back soon.”

Michelle snorts, turning the blanket over to a side less drenched with blood. “It’s like he didn’t remember we just baked several dozen cookies.”

Ned scoffs. Stutters. Tries to cover his ass. “Donuts and cookies aren’t the same thing. And beside, cookies aren’t really a breakfast thing and donuts are even though I don’t know who decided they had to be different I mean really why are there different foods for breakfast than stuff for like, lunch and dinner,  I mean you used to eat leftover roast beef sandwiches from the deli for breakfast _all the time_ \--”

“Ned, stop,” Peter wheezes softly. “Before you hurt yourself.”

“Bold of you to say considering you’re bleeding to death on the living room floor.”

“Mr. Spider-Man, you said you weren’t dying!” Morgan squeaks. She sounds terrified.

“Morgan,” Peter coughs. “He’s just kidding. I’m s-still here. I’m fine.”

She stares at him, suddenly wary. “How do you know my name?”

Peter coughs again. “Peter has told me all about you.”

The scared look in her eyes vanishes, replaced with excitement. “Really?”

He nods. “He said you’re his favorite sister.”

She actually rolls her eyes. “I’m his _only_ sister.”

“Still favorite by d-default, then.”

There’s a knock on the door. “You can get that, it’s okay,” Michelle says, allowing Morgan to open the door. “It’s Spider-Man’s special doctor.”

It _is_ Spider-Man’s special doctor, plus Pepper.  “Mommy!” she exclaims, and Peter can hear her start to sniffle as she jumps into Pepper’s arms. Everything is starting to overwhelm her, and that’s bound to make her finally cry. “Spider-Man got hurt.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Dr. Banner says kindly. Peter hears his footsteps before he appears, giant medical bag in hand. “Got a car downstairs for you to take you back to the tower. But let’s see what we can do here first.”

“Lung,” Peter chokes out. “Collapsed. Popped like a balloon.”

Dr. Banner pulls a face at the analogy before he kneels down and takes Michelle’s place. “You’re pale, but you’re still conscious and your lips aren’t blue. That's good.” He peels the blanket back and looks at the wound. “Jesus, kid, what did you get stabbed with?”

“Zabuza’s knife,” Ned and Peter say together. Michelle rolls her eyes so far back he’s surprised they don’t fall out of her head.

“Is that an alien thing or…?”

“It’s a nerd thing, ignore them. Just put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”

“You might need a chest tube...unless…” He looks behind him for his bag and pulls out a long, empty syringe. He watches him count his ribs, fingers dancing over his rib-cage and then he starts to count. “One--”

“What are you--”

“Two--”

“What, no--”

“Three!”

He sticks the needle in and there’s a blinding pain and then--

He can _breathe._

“Wooow!” Peter shouts, letting out a long, deep breath. He never knew a deep breath could feel so good. It makes the stab wound tolerable.  “Woo baby, that’s better. Thanks.”

As Michelle shushes him, Dr. Banner goes on, “I need to take a look at you in a more sterile environment, but that should do the trick until we get there. You could do with a blood transfusion, if we still have some of yours in stock.”

“We should. I haven’t gotten into this much trouble since last Christmas,” Peter says, words so much easier now. “You should be proud of me.”

Ned groans. “Don’t bring up Christmas. That was a disaster. We’re never pulling you out of a sewer again, dude.”

“Funny, MJ said the same thing.”

“Well, she got the worst of it so I don’t blame her.”

“Listen, someone’s gotta do it.”

Michelle pinches his shoulder before the three of them help Peter to his feet. “How about you just avoid the sewers.”

“In New York City, are you kidding me?”

“Well, glad he’s feeling better,” Dr. Banner mumbles, throwing one of Peter’s arms around his shoulder. Ned takes the other and he actually manages to walk to the front of the apartment. He looks behind him and sees that Pepper has taken Morgan into her room and closed the door.

“Pepper--Morgan--”

“I’ll take care of them,” Michelle says. “Just focus on not bleeding on the rug.”

“Anything for you, babe,” Peter says and he just sees the tip of her middle finger before he disappears into their bedroom. Dr. Banner pulls off the spider suit, mask included, and stuffs it in a stray tote bag. Ned helps him into a pair of sweatpants and when it comes to the whole shirt solution, Ned suggests just wrapping him back up in the blanket.

He looks like he’s in a body bag.

Heh.

And then they’re slipping out of the apartment, Morgan’s cries about Spider-Man far too loud for the middle of the night. They’re going down the four flights of stairs because of course, the elevator in the building doesn’t work.

“How’re you feeling?” Dr, Banner asks on the second flight.

Not great, but he’ll survive. It’s kind of nice to have some fresh air with the mask off. Peter looks down at the large navy blanket he’s tightly wrapped up in and wiggles his bare toes. They hadn’t even grabbed his shoes. “Snug as a bug in a body bag rug.”

Ned slaps him upside the head.

“Ow, hey! What gives? It _looks_ like a body bag.”

“Yeah, well I don’t _like that_ so don’t _say that._ ”

“Tough crowd.”

Eventually he’s pushed into a car and they’re driving away at a unsuspecting speed. Ugh. It’s times like this where he really wishes that _someone_ was at least working the Iron Man suits. When Mr. Stark was around, he always got medical care at lightning speed.

He sighs, tired. He itches to put his mask on but refrains; instead he rests his head on Ned’s shoulder.

“You okay? Need anything?” he asks.

“Donuts,” Peter mumbles.

“...Donuts?”

“Yeah, donuts,” he says a little more clearly. “We have to stop and get them, since I _apparently_ went out at 3 in the morning to get them.”

Ned squawks. “I panicked! Why else would you be gone?”

“I don’t know! Any reason but donuts!”

Dr. Banner chuckles. “We’ll get donuts. But first, stitches. And blood. And lots and lots of rest.”

“Noooooooo,” Peter whines. “Anything but rest.”

The doctor shrugs. “Your fault for getting stabbed.”

“Meanie.”

The last thing Peter remembers is Ned and Dr. Banner starting a debate on Krispy Kreme versus Dunkin’ Donuts before he falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up to the sound of beeping and expecting May by his side, ready to rip him a new one for getting stabbed _again,_ and on a Morgan Monday no less, but instead it’s Pepper, fiddling with his IV.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. She presses a few buttons and the beeping stops. "Bruce will be in soon to check on you."

“Hmm,” he hums, smacking his lips a few times. He feels a lot better. He can see the small, empty bag of blood hanging off the pole, along with a bag of fluids that’s only a quarter gone. The lights in the room are dim and there are no windows, so he’s not sure what time it is. “Last night was fun,” he sighs, taking a deep breath. God, he loves breathing. He loves having uncollapsed lungs.

“I thought you had a spider sense for all this nonsense to keep you out of danger.”

“It’s spide _y_ sense,” he corrects, “And sometimes it doesn’t give me enough time to react, even with super speed. She’s a annoying like that.”

Pepper reaches over and smooths some of his hair out of his eyes, murmuring about how he needs a trim. “How are you feeling? Honestly.”

“Honestly?" he parrots back, "Not too bad. Healing factor really comes in handy.” He pauses, going over all of what happened last night. “Though, it really messed with my senses.”

“What did?”

“The stabbing?” He shifts, trying to burrow under the sad, thin blanket on his cot. “I’ve been stabbed before. It hurts, but it never made me feel so wonky like last night did.” He worries his bottom lip with his teeth. “Maybe it was the collapsed lung?”

Pepper sighs, frowning. “No, I don’t think so. Bruce did some blood work and found trace amounts of what he can only assume is meant to be a poison in your system.” She presses on her watch and a virtual chart appears in the air, listing all these biological components of his blood that he doesn’t understand.

“Poison?” Peter echoes, staring at the chart. It vanishes in a few moments after Pepper looks at his heart rate and blood pressure. “Huh.”

Pepper eyes him curiously. “You don’t sound so surprised.”

“I mean, I’m not?” he says, the statement coming out as a question. “I mean, ugh,  _what I mean is_...the whole situation was weird.” He blinks. “I tied up two carjackers like it was nothing. They didn’t put up a fight. Then all of a sudden, I got stabbed from behind.” He pats down on his wound over his shirt and feels the stitches already coming out. Healing factor saves the day. “It felt like a set up.”

“That’s not good,” Pepper mumbles. “We don’t need anyone out there specifically targeting you.”

“Poison?” Peter says again, trying to wrap his head around the idea. “I mean, I haven’t been poisoned before, but I don’t really...feel like that was it.”

Dr. Banner appears then. He’s actually got a lab coat on and everything, which is funny. People in the med bay don’t really wear lab coats all that often. “I think they underestimated your metabolism, or didn’t account for it at all. That’s why it probably felt like you were drunk.”

Peter shrugs. “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been drunk. But if that’s what it feels like, I think I’ll skip the experience.”

Pepper scoffs. “Really? You’ve never been drunk?”

“Tried. I metabolize it too fast. I got seven shots of whiskey in before Ned told me to stop. Funny enough, the whole night--”

She holds up her hand to stop him. “I don’t want to know.”

“Well, _I_ want to know,” Dr. Banner assures. “I need you to stay and do a few more tests. Plus, that way you’ll get in all that rest we were talking about.”

“Boooooo. Resting is no fun.”

Dr. Banner smiles like he doesn’t care. Because he doesn’t. At least about Peter’s dislike of being bedridden. “Sorry, Pete. But I need to get as many samples and tests as I can, especially if this happens again.”

“Again? You think I’m going to get poisoned _again_?”

“Target, Pete,” Dr. Banner reminds him. “They’re gonna find out that Spider-Man isn’t dead and they might try again. With a bigger dose of poison.”

“Yaaaaay.”

Pepper lightly slaps the top of his hand. “Be serious, please.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, cheeks warming in embarrassment. “I don’t try to scare you guys, honest.” He thinks of Morgan in the middle of the living room last night and his heart rate spikes. “Morgan. Morgan! Is she--”

“She’s fine,” Pepper says. “Doesn’t suspect a thing. I brought her home last night and for breakfast she woke up and had a Krispy Kreme donut that big brother Pete left for her before he had to go to class.”

Peter relaxes instantly. “That’s good.” Morgan doesn’t know he’s Spider-Man. He crawled through their apartment bloodied and poisoned, but she didn’t find out. Ned got the good donuts from Krispy Kreme. Everything Is A Miracle. “You know, she brought me a glass of milk when I fell into the living room and I think it might have neutralized the poison,” he says lightly. “Saved my life.”

Pepper laughs, a huff out her nose, and pats his hand this time, gently.  “She made Spider-Man a get well card at the breakfast table,” she explains, stretching to the side table by his bed for a piece of red construction paper. Like the family tree, it has been drowned in glitter--he can see it under all of Pepper’s nails and accepts the same fate as he takes it.

It’s a crudely drawn picture of him in the Iron-Spider, no doubt modeled after the happy meal toy. It says _Get Well Soon, Mr. Spider-Man. Love, Morgan._

“My first fan letter,” Peter sighs dreamily. “Now I really gotta sign that toy…”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Pepper snickers. “She left it with me to give to you. Plus...” This time she reaches into her purse and pulls The Iron-Spider toy  _and_ the Iron Man toy out. She sets the Iron Man on Peter's pillow. "Ned told me to give this to you as well." She's still smiling. "To help you heal."

Peter stares at it like it might burst into flames. He can't bring himself to touch it. "Thanks," he manages.

If Pepper picks up that he's acting weird, she doesn't show it. Instead, she hands him Morgan's toy, along with a silver sharpie. “Good luck writing anything on that.”

It’s hard, but he manages to write _Spidey_ with a little heart next to it. It’ll have to do. “I’m sorry,” he finds himself saying as he hands the toy back to put in Pepper’s purse.

“What for?”

“For endangering Morgan.”

Pepper goes rigid, eyes blown wide with fear and confusion. “What are you talking about?”

At this point, Dr. Banner is in the corner of the generously large room, talking to one of his assistants. He thinks about what he said earlier and frowns. “I’m a target. I’m always going to be a target. And that makes her a pawn.”

Naturally, Pepper is a little lost in his own made up metaphor, but she does her best to keep up. “Honey, she has no idea you’re Spider-Man. It’s okay. She’s okay.”

“I shouldn’t have just….climbed through the living room like that,” he hangs his head in shame. “Someone could have seen. I don’t know. I just really cut it close, you know? And every time I do that, I get scared about what will happen when she finds out. She's always going to be in danger with me around."

"That isn't true," Pepper says, her voice a little forceful. "There's no one I trust more to look after Morgan than you. You love her. You'd do anything to protect her, I know that."

"Of course I would, but she wouldn't even need so much protection if it weren't for me!" Peter sighs. "I don't know. I just feel like I'm going to mess it all up. Her finding out I'm Spider-Man will just make everything _worse_. I know that you know, and Ned knows, and Michelle knows, and May knows who I am but she is _different_. I can't explain it." He continues to hang his head, fingers picking at his sad little blanket. "Call it a spidey-sense."

Pepper’s expression is calm now, a little blank. She’s thinking, he can practically see it. “We agreed to keep her out of the loop. I still think that’s a good idea, for now,” she starts. “But if she finds out? _When_ she finds out? She'll be okay. It’s not the end of the world. And even if it was….we’ve dealt with the end of the world before.” Her smile is sad.

Suddenly, Peter can’t look at her face. It’s too hard. His chest aches, but not from the stab wound. He wishes his healing factor would make the ache in his heart go away. It’s been six years.

He still uses the mask. He still uses Tony as a crutch.

He’s still heartbroken.

“Hey,” Pepper whispers. She reaches out and brushes away some of his tears because _of course_ he’s crying. “Hey, it’s okay to miss him. I miss him, too.”

But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know that Peter can hear his voice and talk to him every day. That he does. He’s being selfish and crazy but he can’t tell her. Because in the end it’s still not Mr. Stark. It's too much and not enough all wrapped up but he _can’t let go._ He can’t move on.

He’s afraid to.

“C-can I have my mask?” Peter asks, hand raised limply in gesture. “I want to look at the footage recorded from last night.”

Dr. Banner returns from the far corner with a frown on his face. “I have to send it to Shuri, along with your suit, for repairs. Karen isn’t working.”

“Huh?” Peter blinks, wiping his snotty nose with the back of his hand. “Why isn’t the mask working? I didn’t get stabbed in the _face_.”

He shrugs. “I tried archiving the footage myself but she wouldn’t turn on when I addressed her. Was she working last night?”

“O-oh,” Peter stutters. “No, it works. I’ve been messing with it for the past few weeks and right now she only activates for my voice. I haven’t programmed other people in again. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Dr. Banner’s shoulder relaxes and he looks at Peter, impressed. “I didn’t know you knew how to do that. You don’t seem to mess with the AI that much.” He reaches into his lab coat and pulls out the mask, tossing it his way. It smells like garbage and blood and oddly enough….Cool Ranch Doritos.

He shrugs, trying to play it off all cool and whatnot. “You learn a thing or two at Columbia.”

“I can see that. Send the footage to me, will you? And not just the parts you think are relevant. All of it.”

“Including when I fell into the garbage?”

“Including when you fell into the garbage.”

Pepper tugs on his sleeve, smiling. “Send me that too, will you?”

He will. They all deserve a good laugh at his expense after what he put them through. “Fine. If I must,” he sighs dramatically before he sits up wincing slightly. It doesn’t really hurt, but he’s still kind of sore. All he needs is a good stretch. “Can I go out and play, Mom?” he teases, clasping his his hands together. His IV line whacks against the pole. “Pleeeeeease?”

Pepper scoots away from the bed, hands up in surrender. “Fine with me. I’m not the doctor. You’re the one that has to drag the pole around.”

“I’m superhuman, I think I can handle the extra weight.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up, a little dizzy. Maybe he really needs the fluids after all. There’s this weird, non purpose room off the med wing that’s all windows and skyline views that’s perfect for a few moments to himself. He vaguely wonders if that’s what Mr. Stark made it to be. “Be back soon.”

He takes his phone with him, to make them think he’s calling Michelle or Ned, but that’s not what he’s doing. He also slips the Iron Man toy into the pocket of his sweats when Pepper isn't looking. All of a sudden, he needs it. He needs every likeness he can find.

Peter needs to hear his voice.

Once he’s alone, away from anyone who might wander his way, he slips into his favorite room and locks the door behind him. He puts the mask on and prays it really isn’t malfunctioning like Dr. Banner said. He prays it works.

_“Hey, Kid.”_

He lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“Hey, Tony.”

_“Glad to know you didn’t bleed out in the streets last night. What can I do for you?”_

It’s all wrong. Mr. Stark should be yelling at him, his anger thinly masking his worry, just like he always did. He should be threatening to ground him though he has no right. He should be asking if he wants to eat Thai for a week because he got a nasty boo-boo. He should be offering to put an Iron-Man bandaid over his wound.

_“Kid? Your heart rate spiked. You good? Do I need to send an alert?”_

Alert. It’s stuff like this where the AI falls flat. Sometimes it spits out sentences that are so Tony Stark-esque it’s scary. Other times, he’s reminded that Tony, _this Tony,_ works for Peter. It does everything he tells him. It might give him sass for it, but in the end, he does what he’s told. It feels one-sided. Off kilter. A little empty.

He’s talking to a ghost.

“Yeah, No, I'm fine,” he sighs, shaking his head to find reality again. “I need the footage from last night’s patrol? All of it? Can you send it to Dr. Banner?”

_“Do you want me to keep the part where you fell into the garbage or...?”_

“Yeah. Hell, send just that part to Shuri. She’ll get a laugh out of it.”

_“Will do. Anything else?”_

Yeah. But nothing Tony can do.

Not anymore.

Peter reaches into his pocket and takes out the Iron Man toy. It's covered in glitter from the card. His hands are covered as well. There's a button on the back and when he presses it, the arc-reactor on his chest lights up a bright blue.

“No, that’s fine," he whispers. He turns the toy over and over in his hands, thumb pressed over the blue light. "Thanks, Tony.”

_“Anytime, Kid.”_

Definitely a ghost.

**Author's Note:**

> you thought I was done with Tony AI????? HAH. I got about 20k of it already done what is UP. The idea is really interesting to me, and I wanted to explore how Peter would deal with having his mentor's voice beyond the grave, especially considering how he died. Anyway, Hope you like it!!!!! The next chapter will be intense, I'll post warnings with it when I do. If you read something and thought it was foreshadowing it probably was. But it won't have a sad ending I promise.
> 
> Tell me what you think! 
> 
> PS the tagging for this fandom is bonkers I don't know how to do it help


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